Sally Knows Best
by wally4ever
Summary: After his girlfriend leaves him, Michael goes on a quest to find Ms. Right. With a company party coming up where he works, a talking cat, and his eccentric personality, she might just be under his nose. Cinderella with a modern twist. R&R!
1. Love

Chapter One – Love

Busy was the day that hearts turned a gray charcoal of anger and discontentment. Wheezy was the hour where calm complaint turned into an icy sort of argument. Quiet was the house that held more words than it could tell. Yet, glad was the emotion that the mind could finally speak.

"You're a bastard, you know that right?" said a woman no older than twenty-seven. She punched the wall. "And don't get me started on your education. You ran off scared, avoiding college for three years? You're nothing. I hate you."

"You're not so hot, yourself," hissed a man just about her age. "You think just because you like it _everyone_ has to get down on their knees and agree with you.

She held up and finger and shook it into his face. "You know what, Michael," she said, his name butchering the air. She poked him in the chest and he took a step back. "Everything you ever said to me was a lie."

"Bit hypocritical now, are we?" Michael challenged back at her.

Honestly, he had no idea how they got like this. At first they were sitting on the couch. He was sipping a cup of tea and she was reading a magazine. Then he commented on the weather and she bite at him.

"A bit? A _bit_? Oh, you think you're so smart, huh?" She tried to grab his shoulder, but he moved away quickly and she fell forward into a table. A lap fell to the floor and shattered. She looked at the lamp and the glared at him. "I remember when you said you were going to try for a promotion and give us a better home."

"Don't like it? Move."

"You're disgusting Michael," she spat. "I hope you die old and alone!"

"Oh, really?" he replied. "Well, at least I'll die old and alone with_out_ you."

She slapped him across the cheek and charged towards the hallway. "Oh, aren't you _clever_?" Michael heard a door open and bang against the wall.

He went down the hall. "Glad to know what you truly think about me."

She went into their bedroom and pulled a luggage from under the bed like she had rehearsed it.

"You're actually leaving?" Michael exclaimed.

"Yes." She pushed passed him and he turned around to watch her walk to the front door. She halted before going any farther. "Michael," she said, "I actually hope you don't die old and alone." She paused and Michael was taken aback by her mood swing. "I want you to die old and with someone that makes you happy. I want you to die with a belly full of good food your beautiful wife made you. I want you to have grandchildren run around you asking what you did for fun when you were their age. But," she paused, "Michael, we will never have that together."

He was speechless.

"Goodbye, Mike," she said.

She pushed open the screen door and was gone.

Michael stood there lost in a haze of hurt, regret, and confusion. Had she left him? They were over? He knew the answers were both yes, but he didn't know if he was able to face that.

He ran a hand through his hair and sat down on the bed he once shared with her. He rubbed his cheek. "How can she say we wouldn't die happy together?" He looked over at his bedside table with a dust line where an alarm clock once sat. "Yet, she threw a brush at my head a month ago," he added in a quiet voice.

He fell back onto his bed. "Maybe she was right, after all, but I just don't want to believe it. Or," he cut himself off when something sharp poked his spine. He raised an eyebrow and scooted away, feeling the bed. He grabbed the object and smiled when he saw it was only his watch. He held out his let wrist and buckled it on. He changed the hour one back for tomorrow morning, and rubbed his forehead.

He stared up at the space on the ceiling next to the lamp hanging pathetically down to him for a while. Michael closed his eyes.

"She's really gone," he whispered to himself as he slowly fell asleep.

The next morning birds chirped merrily outside Michael's bedroom window. He opened his eyes lazily and groaned. He looked down at his watch and it read seven o'clock exactly. He looked at his arms sticking out from his body horizontally and his back and legs went straight down. He blinked and wondered how he ended up sleeping in this position since he remembered falling asleep on his back, but didn't pay much attention to it.

He yawned and scratched his back lazily and pulled himself up. He ruffled his hair and glared at the carpet, shining brightly as the sunlight gleamed down onto it. He thumped to the kitchen, and he walked by the front door and dead bolted it. He went to the stove and picked up the tea kettle. He turned on the sink faucet and placed the spout under the running water.

He yawned again and placed the kettle back onto the stove. He dragged his feet to the living room and flopped down onto the couch and switched on the television and watched a little kids show.

The kettle started to whistle as a poppy version of a song he used to sing when he as young came on and he gladly went to turn the kettle off. He grabbed a mug from the cupboard and placed a tea bag inside before pouring in the boiling hot water.

He settled back on the couch and sipped his tea as he watched a man with a purple face chase a girl with a pink face, and then a sad attempt of little kid romance came on and he had to change the channel. He sighed when it was the local news.

Michael looked at his watch and saw fifteen minutes had passed since he last checked. Normally on a business day, he would be at the office or running errands for his boss while in the office. Though, sometimes he was just outside picking up coffee for his boss or picking up his boss's phones.

Michael slurped his tea and changed the channel to a sitcom.

He heard a meow from outside his front door and rubbernecked to stare at the door. It was the neighborhood cat that chose Michael out of all the other people in the neighborhood to feed her. Probably because his old girlfriend fed her a whole can of tuna everyday.

Michael walked towards the door, still holding his tea and unlocked the door. He opened the door a crack and a quiet meow greeted him. He peered down at a small calico cat. He had named her Sally. Sally the cat.

"She's not here," he told Sally. "She left."

The cat rubbed its head against the toe of Michael's shoe. Michael chugged the rest of his tea, contorting his face when his tongue burnt. The cat meowed again.

"I told you, she's not here," he said beginning to get annoyed.

The cat stopped rubbing him and gazed up at him with large, green eyes. Michael pursed his lips and closed his eyes, shaking his head. "Please, don't look at me like that."

The cat rubbed against him again.

"Please…"

The cat meowed.

"Oh, _fine_, you win," Michael said annoyed and opened the door for Sally to come in. He closed the door. Sally skipped to the kitchen and stopped near the refrigerator. Michael set his cup down on the kitchen counter and leaned against the edge of the counter. He eyed her and she gazed back up at him, seeming to be trying to make herself look fluffier.

"Sal, you're too outgoing for a cat," Michael said as he moved to the fridge and beckoned her to move before he opened the door. He took out a can of tuna and shut the door closed with his foot. "Did you know that?" he added. He raised an eyebrow at her and she neared the counter. Her head bobbed up and down, measuring the height of the counter and then jumped, landing elegantly onto it. "Did you know that?" he added.

Sally walked over to him and licked the can before rubbing his arm with her head. Michael scratched her ear and she purred and closed her eyes. Michael immediately became googly-eyed at her. "Oh, you're such a precious little kitty-cat," he cooed. "Such a tiny, fluffy kitty living on her own in the big, wide world." Sally purred and rubbed her head harder onto his arm.

Sally's eyes suddenly shot open and she meowed angrily and licked the tuna can again. She took a step away from him and sat down defiantly.

Michael grinned at her and snapped his fingers. "Rats," he laughed at her and opened up the drawer and took out a can opener, "you're sharp too."

Sally hissed.

"Sorry," he said, chuckling, "I'll say shoot next time."

Michael opened the cupboard and took out a small bowl. He grabbed a spoon from the silverware drawer and scooped the tuna out. Sally put her nose into the bowl before he was even done, but Michael didn't push her away. He stopped scooping and periodically placed some more tuna in the bowl when it became too empty for Sally's taste.

_Chapter edited on June 3, 2007.  
_


	2. Hectic

Chapter Two – Hectic

Pyramid Enterprise Inc. prided themselves on quick, intelligent marketing techniques and their lack of cubicles, making their employees feel loved and cared after. Not a single personal office had a paper out of place or a paper clip not made up into a necklace. Although, hidden behind the counter of the receptionist desk was a masterpiece rainbow of sticky notes, highlighters, and even the broken slinky from last year's New Year's Bash.

"Michael, just answer the phones," Ms. Lewis said, who was a secretary for Mr. Johnson, Michael's boss. But, Michael wasn't so important to Mr. Johnson for Michael to talk to him himself. In fact, Michael never recalled ever talking to Mr. Johnson. Or ever seeing his face. He wasn't at Michael's interview, and when Michael ran Mr. Johnson's errands, once he was done Ms. Lewis would give the results to Mr. Johnson, good or bad. Usually good.

"Thanks, Janie," Michael said with a winning smile as he folded the mouthpiece to his headset.

Ms. Lewis glared at him. "No."

"Huh?" Michael said.

"Don't call me Janie."

"Sure thing, Lewy," Michael replied, giving her a cheap thumbs up.

Ms. Lewis pushed her glasses into the bridge of her nose. "You're obnoxious."

The phone rang before Michael could continue their banter and he pressed a button and fiddled with his mouthpiece. "Good morning, Pyramid Enterprise Inc., how may I help you? Uh huh… Okay, may I put you on hold? Thank you."

Michael got out a notepad and scribbled on it to make himself feel busier.

Some papers miraculously slammed onto the receptionist desk and Michael peered up at it. He saw a short, pudgy looking woman with large eyes. "You the receptionist?" she asked.

Michael felt like adding, "And part-time slave, yes. How do you take your coffee? Because this isn't the East Coast, so I gotta know." But, instead, he simply replied, "Yes that would b me."

The receptionist desk was an intimidating high and Michael had to almost crane his neck downward to have a good look at the woman, but she some how found a way to look down at him.

She wrinkled her nose and pointed carelessly at his neck. "Your tie's undone."

Michael grudgingly felt his tie and glanced at her as he tightened it. "So, do you want m to give these to Mr. Johnson?" Or have someone else give them to Mr. Johnson? he thought.

"No."

Michael raised an eyebrow at her. "Excuse me?"

She laughed and slapped the desk. Michael recoiled at the sight of her blazing hot red nail polish his old girlfriend always wore.

"I'm only joking, young man," she said, getting over her laughter.

The phone rang.

"I have to take this," Michael whispered, pointing to his mouthpiece and began to talk before he answered it. The lady huffed and walked away. Her skirt flowed from side to side and Michael got a good look at her legs. He involuntarily shuddered.

"Good morning, Pyramid Enterprise Inc., how may I help you?" He chocked when the lady came back. "What? Oh, hiccup…. Oh, fine, thank you. Erm – please hold."

The lady smiled at him. "Hello again, young man."

Michael felt uncomfortable. "Hello. How may I help you?"

The lady grinned and opened her purse. She took out a small, neatly folded piece of paper. "I want Mr. Johnson to have this too." She handed Michael the paper and he took it a little too quickly. "Oh! And this is for you," she said, and dug into her purse again and took out a small candy.

Michael smiled sweetly. "I'm sorry, but I can't take candy from strangers."

She laughed like before, and Michael's foot twitched. "I'm Delilah Moore. There, not such a stranger now, am I?" She dropped the candy onto the desk and Michael looked at it as if waiting for it to explode. He glanced at her elderly face and grabbed the candy.

"I'm sure it's delicious."

She grinned. "Goodbye, young man!"

He waved a hand at her and when she was far down the lobby, he stuck his tongue out and blew. He answered another phone and was careful to decipher there strong Indian accent when he felt a sudden gust of wind. He looked in front of his desk and saw nothing.

"Michael." It came directly from his left ear.

Michael yelped and jumped in his set, his headset askew. "God, Lewis, do you want to kill me?"

Ms. Lewis smiled and traced her fingers on the desk and placed her elbow on front and rested her chin on her palm. "Aww, what gave it away?"

Michael seethed.

"Those for me?" Ms. Lewis said, pointing to the stack of papers.

"Uh, sure," Michael said. "Oh! And this too!" He grabbed the candy and gave it to her.

"Oh, splendid!" Ms. Lewis said. "You know, I'm on that time of the month, so chocolate is a must."

"Ahh!" Michael covered his ears. "Too much information!"

The phone rang.

"Actually," Ms. Lewis said before Michael could pick it up, "Mr. Johnson wants his coffee."

Michael tore the headpiece off and the machine caught the call. "Why doesn't he drink tea? Coffee is so..." He shivered.

"Unbelievable. Tell me you aren't British," Ms. Lewis said with a more earthly laugh than that of Delilah Moore.

"Ew," Michael shuddered, "not even. I care about my teeth too much." Ms. Lewis raised an eyebrow. "I'm Irish and Australian."

"Irish?"

Michael looked down at his tanned arms. "I'm Catholic." But he said more as a question.

"Cute," she said and took the headset. The phone rang and Michael pressed the button for Ms. Lewis. Ms. Lewis talked into the mouthpiece and Michael gathered his coat. She hung up and handed him money for the coffee.

Michael walked away from the desk and tipped an imaginary hat to her. "Top o' the morning to ya."

* * *

"Um, I want a tall mocha and a blueberry muffin. No, I – uh…" 

Michael rolled his eyes and jingled his foot as the thirteen-ear-old ahead of him ordered anything but the hot chocolate. "Psst, kid."

Her eyes flickered towards him and she stuck her chin up. "Um, a caramel – no. A, uh…"

"Psst, kid, get the Tazo Citrus," Michael said, bouncing impatiently.

To his surprise, the girl turned around to face him and said with a nasally, I'm-so-much-better-than-you voice, "No. They don't have it anymore."

Michael stopped bouncing. "What?"

The girl stuck her hip out to the side and placed a hand on it. "It's been discontinued," she said like everyone knew. "Starbucks doesn't sell it anymore. Honestly, don't you know _anything_?"

Michael shook his head. Starbucks wouldn't discontinue something as beautiful as a Tazo Citrus. It was like they discontinued the Frappuccino No, this girl was lying. "You're a liar."

She cocked her head to the side. "Ex_cuse_ me?" she said in her nasally, I'm-better voice.

"They wouldn't discontinue tea. That's suicide."

She cleared her throat in disgust and stuck out her other hip and snapped her fingers. "You are a _tea drinker_?"

Michael glared at her. "What's that supposed to mean?"

She swerved her head and puckered out her lips. "It means what it means. You have no taste in drinks."

"Oh, yeah? So that's how it is, huh?" Michael leaned down so he was at her level, nearly breaking his back in the process. "Well, while you're sick and dying, my kidneys will be in tip top while yours are in failure."

She turned back to the cashier who was looking bored and had five piercing on their left eyebrow alone. "One venti hot chocolate, please."

The five piercing cashier rung up her order and gave her the change. The girl walked away with a _humph_ and the thirty dollar skirt she probably bought at Abercrombie and Fitch swished back and forth as she met up with her two friends with the exactly same outfit as she, except the colors were off.

Michael smiled – hopefully pleasantly – at the cashier and said his order in lightening time. "One Arabian Mocha Sanani with cream –"

"Cream?"

"Cream."

"Okay."

"Make that a tall."

"Tall?"

"Tall."

"Okay."

"Two grande Organic Shade Mexico Growns."

"You mean Organic Shade Grown Mexico?"

"What?"

"Organic Shade Grown Mexico."

"Yes."

"Two?"

"Two."

"Grande?"

"Grande."

"Okay."

"One House Blend. With room."

"Size?"

"Short."

"Whoa, dude, that thing's small."

"I know," Michael said. The piercing cashier was getting on his nerves. Was he not listening and had to confirm everything like someone learning a new language they actually wanted to learn because he needed a hearing aid, or something?

"That all?"

"Yes."

"Cash?"

Michael delicately placed the money on the counter and sniffed. He paused, realizing he was acting like the thirteen-year-old and then began to tap his foot again. The cashier gave him his receipt and Michael walked away as quick as he could. Michael took a seat by the window and stared out at the traffic. He sighed and drew lazy circles onto the table and heard giggles he presumed were from the group of junior high school girls.

Had she really left him Saturday? Was he just imagining things? Of course he wasn't. She had made it quite clear before that she was going to leave him one of these days, and he even enforced her to do so by mocking her and poking fun at her. He bit his lip. He wondered what she as doing now. If she found a place to sleep that night. He wished he would have said goodbye.

This morning when he was driving his old, beat up pick-up truck to work he remembered how they first met. He had called her ugly and she called him an ogre. Then they ended up making-out and soon after went out on date. Did that foreshadow their relationship?

He saw a woman walking down the street with a large Saint Bernard dog, wearing jeans with hole on her knees that seemed out of wear and tear. Her light brown hair was in a messy bun and she was wearing a plain, yellow shirt. He cocked his head at her and watched as she walked. Her shoes looked brand new. They were grey pumps and shone. She had a nice walk. He rested his chin on his elbow and walked as her feet took the place in front of the other, and as she began to run to keep up with the dog. He smiled.

Michael's smile fell when the dog suddenly began listening to the woman's pleas for him to stop, and then slammed on his breaks, and sat down obediently. The girl flew over him and waved her arms around in the air and then fell flat on her bottom, people stopping to laugh at stare at the spectacle she made. The dog panted and then turned to her and gave her a good lick on her cheek and at first she looked like she wanted to pull his ears off, but then soften and smiled. She patted his head and at that moment looked in Michael's direction.

Michael gapped his mouth and then busied himself with drawing his fingers around in circles on the table, and then glanced at her and saw she was still looking at him. He wasn't sure what to do, so he smiled and she looked shocked and then got up, brushed off her worn pants, glared at her new gray pumps, and then went on walking her Saint Bernard.

"One tall Arabian Mocha Sanani with cream, two grande Organic Shade Grown Mexicos, and a short House Blend with room?"

Michael got up and waved his hand and smiled at the boy giving him is coffee, and a quick scan proved this one was sure of his and others words and he had no piercing.

As Michael made his way to the door, the thirteen-year-old pointed at him to her friends and said in a loud whisper, "He's the tea drinker."

_Author's Note: No quirky fact only a huge nerd could figure out, but the Tazo Citrus really is a discontinued drink at Starbucks._

_Oh, and in this chapter, you may be worried since Michael didn't think of his old girlfriend **much** and that's just because he's one on those forget-them-so-it-doesn't-hurt kind of folk. And I also think that when he thought about her and how he thought of her was natural to how most people would. You know, think about it at random times and slowly drift out of it. You also see more into his character: a sarcastic, impatient tea drinker. But, never fear, he still is a tea drinker so he falls under the stereotypical calmness that goes with tea._

_Sally fun coming next._


	3. Advice

Chapter Three – Advice

It was times like these that Michael wished coffee appealed to him more. Once he had gotten back to the office, Ms. Lewis took the coffees he got from Starbucks from him and had him run copies for a tinge more than two hours straight and then after he worked through his lunch break. Michael wasn't exactly sure what his job was, but he had a feeling it wasn't called slave.

The parking lot was almost empty and Michael stiffened his shoulders as he felt like he was in a horror movie. A gush of wind blew past his ears and he hitched the collar of his jacket up and exhaled. He was startled to see his breath freeze. It was just October. Why was it so cold? This was California not Antarctica. Michael half expected to see a penguin hop out in front of him and start tap dancing.

He dug into his pocket and took out his key even though he hadn't caught sight of his car yet. Like most men, he was a master at finding his car. Or any car. His sister said he could sniff them out, where as his father called him a true chip off the old shoulder. But he was cursed for most of his life to accompany his mother everywhere she went, because she couldn't find her car for beans. Leaving his adolescent life something of a blur, and high school a fight for the fittest.

He heard a crack behind him and stopped dead in his tracks, not bothering to lower his foot just hovering over the ground. He turned around quickly and squinted his eyes. His glasses had broken a month ago and he was meaning on getting them fixed. Apparently his eyesight was poorer than most at night.

There was a click of heels and then deathly silence. Michael fiddled with his keys. But he stopped, remembering reading an article about how rapists looked for young woman who were distracted by playing with their keys or fixing their make-up. He licked his lips. Did he just call himself a woman?

Michael peered behind a shiny Ferrari, and settled in thinking that the crack and high heels were just his imagination. He turned around and took a few steps forward which were immediately followed by a crack. Michael turned around and nearly broke his neck doing so.

He knew the facts. Someone wanted his head, or something. He took a karate class when he was younger, but the only move he could think of then was that one from the _Karate Kid_.

He was watching the _Lifetime Network_ the night after his old girlfriend left him and saw this one show called, _What Should You Do?_ There was this one woman who was being corner on the street, so she placed her hand out and spread her legs shoulder length apart and called out random information about herself. What she as wearing, her name…. Should Michael do that? Was he being abducted?

The clanking of the high heels grew louder and became out of step. There was more than one! It was a gang! Soon after giggling followed, and Michael rose an eyebrow, but his heart rate still quickened. He was going to die.

Who was going to feed Sally?

Who was going to annoy Ms. Lewis?

He never got to see Mr. Johnson's face.

They were interns.

Michael's jaw dropped and he pointed a finger at the two interns noiselessly. Why those little….

"Why'd you do that?" Michael exclaimed.

They giggled and looked and waved their hands at each other. One spoke up and their words made Michael even more outraged. "We heard you were," she stopped to giggle, "We heard you were a….spaz!"

They heard he was a spaz?

"From who?"

"Well," said the other one. "You drink tea don't you?"

Michael raised his other eyebrow. "I'm a spaz because I drink _tea_?"

They both just giggled more.

And how did they know he drank tea? Sure, he may have had a secret stash of tea bags at the receptionist desk, but only a few number of other tea drinkers knew, and maybe he fought to get invited to a company tea party, only to be rejected more than once, but how did they know that was _him_? The only reason he knew they were interns was because they had those ugly necklace tags.

They waved at him and went to a shiny new BMW Beatle and Michael wanted to hiss at them so bad.

And then he found his pick-up. In all its tender loving care, it showed all the trouble it had lived through. It showed the leftovers of Michael's first date in it, it showed his first red light – and only, it showed its need of a wax, and it even showed a little bit of pride. Michael heard the size of your car decided the size of your…. So he got a pick-up instead of a sports car. But now he figured he should have lied and gone with the sports car.

It wasn't like he hated his car. He loved it. As far as he knew, this was the one who he was going to die old and happy with. This car was his best friend. And it had great gas mileage. But its key weighted a ton and he always misplaced it. How it ever got to work on time in the mornings would forever be a mystery to him.

But Michael's favorite feature in the car was the writing on the back seat. At first he was angry when he discovered it, but then he read it:

_I lov uncal Mikal._

It was a mess of misspellings, but it always brought a smile on his face when he read it. He was getting his niece her Christmas present and he told her to write a small list. He was twenty at the time and ignorant to what a small child would do with a pen in the back seat of his precious pick-up. But, he supposed that's what made it extra special. It was a reminder of his family. Michael always considered himself a family man, and bonded a lot with his sister for she too shared a joy of tea – though, probably not as obsessive, and he secretly liked finding the car in the parking lot in the middle of one hundred degree heat in a black shirt for his mother. And he actually asked his dad if they could go fishing together.

But they why couldn't he keep a girlfriend?

Minus the last one. They were doomed from the start.

However, since he could remember, his relationships were down the drain.

He had his first girlfriend in second grade. Her name was Emily. Michael remembered what he liked about Emily. Her hair. It was soft and curly and blonde. He told her how he liked her hair and she giggled and asked if he wanted to be her boyfriend because she liked his shoes. Michael promptly said yes and they spent their romance on the playground playing on the monkey bars and chasing each other on the black top, despite school rules. But then Michael lost interest in blonde hair, and asked Emily if she could dye it like his mom did. She called him a meanie and then moved away in third grade. He wondered what happened to ol' Emily.

Then he moved onto redheads. Natasha Sputnik. Sputnik. He was fourteen and fascinated with everything outer space, so when he met Natasha Sputnik, he as in love. Because since her last name was Sputnik, of _course_ she loved out space too. She didn't, but she saw _Mars Attacks_, so Michael was feeling cool. They went out for a week and spent most of their time kissing amateur-like by the science rooms.

Then he dated two girls at once in his freshman year in high school. But he knew why that ended. After the girls, he dated the Spaniard exchange student who knew no English, so one day her friends told her what Michael was telling her, and she then slapped him.

Then he dated his most recent. They were doomed from the start. And here he is now: young and slowly dying like everyone else since the first day they were born.

Michael opened the door to his copper colored pick-up and ducked, still hitting his head, and shut the door behind him. He stared at the windshield wipers.

He was twenty-seven. Nearing thirty. He should be meeting someone by now. Then they'd date and he would reach thirty, by a ring, give it to her, stand in a church and have her walk in a straight line in a white dress, then the kids would pop out, pay the college, retire, have old people passion, be happy, and die.

Michael scratched his head. Why was he making this so hard on himself? Could it be because he has commitment problems? No, he finished almost everything he started. Has he been looking too hard?

Michael laughed. What a stupid question.

But if not, what, then?

Had he just not found her? That could be the case. No, it was the case. Over the entire women population he had ever met in his life, all he thought was materialistic things with them. Maybe not if he hooked-up with Ms. Lewis. But that was just nasty. If he found her, would he think….not so materialistic things? He thought so. At least he'd think about her personality.

He never thought about personality much. He was more of a, "If you look hot, I'd date you," kind of guy. Did he want to stay that kind of guy?

-----

"John, where do you meet nice woman?" Michael said into his phone with the smallest cord in the world.

Silence. "What?"

Michael wrestled with a Tupperware container and jumped back when it finally snapped open. "Well, Sandy is a nice girl. Where'd you meet her?"

"Oh," John said. "Well, I met her at the park."

"The park?" Michael sniffed the container and grimaced.

"Well, I discovered her at the park."

Michael threw the Tupperware into the sink. "You _discovered_ her?"

"Um, yeah." Michael heard a bang and shuffling. "Sorry, I dropped the phone."

"That's all right." Michael opened the refrigerator door. "So, discovered?"

He could feel John's blush. "Oh, yeah. Well, I didn't approach her until I caught her again at the supermarket."

Michael shot up and banged his head in the fridge. "The supermarket?"

"Hey, you asked!"

"You asked Sandy out in the _supermarket_?"

"Uh, yeah."

Michael walked backwards until he hit the counter. "The supermarket?"

Silence.

"John! That's brilliant!"

"….What?"

Michael felt like hugging him and then he heard a meow at the door. He held up a finger at the door although he knew Sally wouldn't be able to see it. "You're a genius, John! I'll go to the supermarket and go to the – what aisle did you see her?"

"F-frozen food."

"Great! I'll go to the frozen food section and then pick-up the first girl I see," Michael laughed. "John, if we were both gay I would kiss you!"

"Okay…."

"I gotta go. I need….frozen peas!" Michael then thought about what he really needed, and then he remembered his lack of Chamomile tea. "I gotta go. Talk to you later!" He heard John mumble a goodbye and hung up.

Michael ran to the front door and tore it open, nearly taking it off its hinges. He looked down at Sally who had cowered back and looked at him with wide eyes to try and calm his maniacal expression and Michael scooped her up and bear hugged her. "Sally, I love you!"

She meowed a bit quizzing.

He kicked the door closed and fell onto his couch and stroked Sally's neck, she slowly began to purr. "Sal, when I get back, you're going to have as much tuna as you want. And you can sleep on my bed. And I'll buy you a litter box, too!"

If Sally had eyebrows, they would both be raised. She meowed.

Michael stood up and held her out in front of him. Sally looked down at the ground and then up at him. "Don't you get it, Sally? You can live here now!" 

She closed her eyes and purred.

Michael brought her close and rubbed her cheek with his. "I can get you a collar and – oh! I can train you on the leash and take you to the park! Oh, isn't this great?"

Sally snuggled up in his arms and purred louder.

-------

Michael pushed his cart up and down the frozen food aisle the fifth time in a row and the only woman there was over fifty and half his size. Michael stopped by the frozen pizzas and figured he would take one for dinner tomorrow, unless he had to work overtime in a job he didn't know what the technical name was.

He wondered if they had the one that tasted like delivery.

An unsteady patter of feet came down the aisle and Michael stared of at nothing in particular and listened. One was more of a clank, and the other a sharp click as if from a high heel. Michael closed the door and looked around. He saw a girl bending into the ice cream section wearing a yellow shirt and blue jeans and broken grey pumps.

Michael did a double take. It was the girl who tripped over the dog! Was this a sign? Did he find someone in the frozen food section like John? Why were her pumps broken? Was it from her fall? Did she remember him?

Michael took a calm breath and remembered he wanted to turn thirty with someone, and Grey Pumps Girl could just be the one. He ran a hand through his hair to try and make it a sexy messy and pushed his cart to the ice cream. He felt a tap on his shoulder. He stopped pushing the cart and looked back. It was the older woman. Michael smiled at her. "How may I help you?" he asked.

She smiled a nice, friendly smile. "Well, I was wondering if you can get me something from the top shelf, if that wouldn't be a trouble."

Michael thought about Grey Pumps Girl, then the woman, then Grey Pumps Girl, and then back to the woman. He was going to kill two birds with one stone. He was going to help this woman and impress Grey Pumps Girl at the same time. John would be proud.

"Sure," Michael replied.

The lady pointed to the section of frozen corn, and Michael's smile slipped when he saw there was one left….all the way in the back. He looked back at the lady who looked apprehensive, and he smiled promptly again.

He walked to the corn and opened the door, he blew into his hand and felt around the top shelf, and his fingers hit the corn. He grinned and the lady smiled wider. He pulled the corn, but it would budge. Michael pulled again and it still wouldn't move. He pulled it a final time and hopped around the aisle, the last tug throwing him off balance.

He handed her the corn. "Well, there you go," he said a little too loudly for Grey Pumps Girl to hear. When the lady took the corn from him, he saw a wedding ring. He smiled shortly at her and she said a thank you. Michael went back to his cart.

He ran a hand through his hair to make to a sexier messy, and looked over at the ice cream section where Grey Pumps Girl was before. She wasn't there. Damn. Michael shrugged it off. It was a coincidence she was there, anyway, and looked down at his cart to see what he missed. He noticed he didn't have the Chamomile tea.

What Michael loved more than the taste of tea, was the smell of tea while still in the bag. Also how it tasted with a little drop of honey like his mother always made it for him when he was sick or sad. Michael wafted the tea aroma and sighed. He heard a laugh ahead of him.

He opened his drunkenly pleasured eyes and could have died.

It was her.

Grey Pumps Girl.

And in a tea aisle.

This was so a sign.

Michael grinned at her care freely and pointed to the tea. "You like tea?" Only he sounded like a dork with a nasal problem. He licked his lips.

She smiled. "Um, yeah. You?"

Michael's eyes shone. This _was_ a sign. "Like a rat does cheese."

"You're funny," she said, laughing.

She thought he was funny. He better get his tea before he made an ass out of himself. But she was cute there in her broken heels. "How'd you break your shoes?"

Her cheeks pinked and she wiggled her foot with the broken heel. "I, uh, fell."

And she was an honest person too! "Oh," he said. "Well, that's a likely story." _Play it cool, play it cool._

Her eyes widened. "Oh, no! Really, I fell."

He pushed his cart forward and saw a great sale. He snatched a box. He smiled at her pleasantly. "How?"

She picked up a box of Chamomile tea. Sign. "Well, I…. tripped over someone."

Michael smiled at her and reached across her cart for the Chamomile tea. "Well, it was a rather unfortunate fall on your shoe, then."

"Oh, yes. And actually, I didn't notice it was broken until I was halfway down the block."

He snorted. She looked at him skeptically before giggling. He raised an eyebrow at her and they both burst out into laughter.

"It was nice meeting you…?" she said.

"Michael."

She smiled. "Yes, Michael. It was nice meeting you."

Michael looked at her expectantly.

"Rachel, but everyone called me Chicky in high school."

"Chicky?"

"Long, weird story involving a field trip to a farm in kindergarten."

"You got stuck with Chicky since kindergarten?"

"Unfortunately."

Michael beamed at her. Rachel was something else. "Well, it was nice meeting you, Rachel."

"You too, Michael."

"Rach."

"Mike."

-------

Michael danced around in circles as he opened Sally's can of tuna, Sally following him. He hummed a Disney song under his breath and laughed jovially when the can was opened. He drained it in the sink and placed the can on the counter – Sally meowed in protest – and leaned against the stove. He crossed his arms over his chest and sighed.

He had never acted like a teenage girl before.

Sally clawed at his leg and he looked down at her. She meowed quietly and walked over to the side of the counter with the tuna. Michael laughed.

"Oh, Sally! There's more to life than tuna," Michael exclaimed and picked her up. Sally didn't take her eyes off the tuna and reached out for it. "There's fun and sadness, friendships and relationships, and even life without tuna."

Sally looked at him incredulously, but didn't meow.

Michael danced around the kitchen with Sally. She wailed and squirmed, and Michael set her on the counter. She went straight for the tuna. Michael leaned beside her and crossed his arms over the counter. "You should have seen her, Sally. She was so great. Quite a character too. Her pumps were broken, funny, huh? And she likes tea too!"

Sally stopped eating and licked her lips. Michael looked off in a daze.

"Did you get her number?"

"Oh, no, I didn't. I was just so excited to –" Michael cut himself off and looked at Sally who was sitting up straight and had a mystic expression. "Did you – did you just _talk_?"

Sally stared at him. Silence.

Michael gapped like a fish.

Sally rolled her eyes and Michael gulped.

"If you like her so much, why didn't you get her number, hmm?"

Michael jumped back and tripped over his feet. "You just – you just talked!"

Sally jumped off the counter and walked around him. "I know that, Michael. But the real amazing thing is your intelligence."

"What?" Michael croaked.

Sally sighed and walked towards his chest and rested against it. "Be a friend and rub my head before I scratch you."

_Author's Note: Ah, so now Miss Sally has talked. We have a love interest and a new character. But the best is yet to come, reader. And I can honestly say that this is where the real fun begins._


	4. Whoa

Chapter Four: Whoa

"Okay, let me get this straight," John said as Michael fled into the pet store near his old, beat up apartment. "You actually met a girl you saw before in the frozen food section and she likes tea?"

"Isn't that just super?" Michael cheered, grabbing a cart.

"Yeah, but, did you get her name?"

"Rachel. Though, in high school everyone called her Chicky."

John raised his eyebrows. "That's unfortunate."

"Yeah, she didn't want to give too many details on it either," Michael said as he turned into an aisle he found were for hamsters.

"Alright, so after you came home, you just _had_ to get a leash for your….cat."

Sally had a few words to say about the leash last night, but it seemed she wanted Michael to still have the mental capacity of getting on with his life, so she just gave in and allowed him to get the leash.

"Right-O."

Michael chose an aisle at random and cursed when he found it was for birds and fish. The cat aisle had to exist.

"Michael…."

"No, John, I can find the cat aisle on my own, thank you."

"But, Michael."

"No."

"Michael the aisles have –"

"I don't need help."

"– signs."

Michael stopped and the cart skidded a few inches, but John caught it. Michael cocked his head to the side and look up at the sign saying, "It's a Doggie Dog Gone World Out There…."

"So, they do," Michael whispered with a high tone. He cleared his throat and furrowed his eyebrows. "Amazing…."

Then it hit him like a ton of bricks. The rest of the pet shop experience and John's wise marks about not getting Rachel's number was a daze. Michael had a dreamy smile on his face and had to contain himself from giggling at odd times, but he failed once and the lady at the register looked at him weird and John told her Michael had the flu.

Michael dropped John off and waved at him hazily, and John looked at him weirdly. Michael turned on some peppy music in the car he listened to when he was young, ignorant and his taste was jumbled up, and it probably wasn't too safe to let him drive.

He had inspiration. He had an idea. He had to write it down when he thought of it, but he didn't have anything other than John's head, and Michael wasn't sure if John would allow that or be able to stand still for that long, but he didn't want to lose the idea and so didn't think of anything other than his idea.

He brought out his thinking typewriter and Sally curled up next to him on the couch, muttering about humans and how they don't respect cats, and he was too dazed to even scream at her for talking.

And he wrote.

The words fell from his mind and onto the paper with ease, and when Michael got out the opening scene and the next scene, he was at peace.

He was back in business. And this time he was looking for the Academy Award.

-------

"Michael, are these things necessary?" Sally complained in the car, scratching at her collar.

But instead Michael muttered about his script and Rachel's love of tea under his breath, completely ignoring her.

"Oh, what? Oh, sure."

Sally lowered her voice into a hiss. "Michael, you're not listening to me."

"Collar, necessary. See?" Michael looked down at her briefly and then focused on the road. "I heard everything."

Sally licked her back. "Yeah, everything short of nothing."

"Hey, just you wait," Michael started, "if I find her here, then –"

"I'll get all the tuna in the world," Sally said in monotone. "Yeah, Michael, you need a new bribe."

Michael turned into a parking lot and rolled his eyes. "Well, sorry, Ms. Thang, but giving out bribes to a talking cat isn't that easy."

"And taking bribes from an inexperienced bribe giver isn't that easy either." Michael parked the pick-up. "Michael, where are we?"

"Park," Michael said carelessly, unbuckling himself and turning to Sally.

"No."

"Why not?"

"No."

"Oh, come on, Sal. Do this for me?"

Sally cleaned her back. "I'm not going – and you said we were going to see Rachel at the supermarket."

Michael exhaled and threw his head back into his seat. "I'll give you –"

"Tuna?"

"You suck."

"Yeah, I know," Sally stretched and rolled up into a ball on the seat. "I'm not going."

-------

"_NOOO_!" Sally screamed. She hissed and wailed and whined and cried as Michael pulled her out from the pick-up, her claws digging into the seat.

She snapped at him. "There'll be dogs!"

Michael only pulled harder.

"I hate you for this," she muttered and let go of the seat, sending herself and Michael flying from the tension. She landed on her feet and Michael groaned and rubbed his throbbing shoulder.

"Sally," he whispered. "You're the best."

She put the end of the leash in her mouth and dropped it on his chest. "She better be here."

Michael tugged at the leash and they started to walk to the park. "Tell me about it."

Ever since Michael could remember, strange things always happened to him at the park. He learned to walk at the park. He kissed his first girlfriend at the park. He rode his first bike at the park. He broke his hand at the park. He saw his first opossum at the park. And now at age twenty-seven, he was going to pick-up a girl at the park – if she was even there.

This particular park was not much of a park, but more of a play ground with an added football field and surrounding track. Michael stepped onto the track and saw a sign which read:

PICK UP AFTER YOURSELVES.

He didn't want to pick up Sally's presents, but grinned when he saw a dog owner doing so in a small diagram on the sign.

Michael tugged Sally's leash and they were off walking on the track. While there, Michael got many ugly stares at him and in particular Sally. He considered it odd to be guiding a cat on a leash, but it wasn't impossible. He had an aunt who his whole family dubbed "the crazy one in the family," and she walked her pet iguana around at a soap convention.

Michael looked around the park searching for Rachel. He saw some mothers pushing their babies in sport-strollers, and he saw some jock-type guys running around together, and a burly man wearing a dark jogging outfit.

Michael looked down at himself.

He wasn't much for going to the park and running around, but he did go to the gym when he had the chance. His arms were alright and his legs were manly – hairy so he didn't look like a boy, but not too hairy that he could be considered as the missing link, and he had some meat on them. His face was alright, and his lips were a proper shape. His dark hair was a bit messy in some areas, but luckily he wasn't going to go bald, though he did have a scar on the top right side of his forehead when he fell out of a tree house, but when he wore a baseball cap, know one could tell. His eyes were nothing too special. Dark. He wouldn't call them brown, but they were definitely not black. He just was ordinary looking in gym clothes and old, beat up tennis shoes, walking a cat.

She better be here.

"Come on," Michael said to Sally. "Let's – uh – do a once over and then we can relax on the grass."

Sally looked up at him. "Can I sunbathe?"

"Huh?" Michael said. "Oh, uh, sure."

Michael spaced out a lot during exercise. At the gym he'd just zone out while he lifted a few weights or jogged on the treadmill. But, he didn't space out like normal people – thinking about what they're going to do, and all. No, when he spaced out, he thought about space ships traveling to Plant X and rainbow colored dogs….

Elektra was a temporary queen of the underworld. She ruled far behind Hades's set of rules. She was able to twist everyone's words to make them into a person they weren't – and made them live a horrible afterlife. Hades grew angry at her for she was placing everyone where they weren't supposed to be. So one day, he took a knife and waited until Elektra was asleep and then he stabbed her in the chest. Afterwards, he went to sort out all the souls that –

Michael ran into someone. It was the burly man, who had then fallen the ground. The burly man looked fazed, and then he gasped and held his ankle.

Oh, no. Michael broke someone _else's_ bone.

"Oh, my God…. I'm so sorry," Michael said, dropping Sally's leash and moving to help the burly man up. "Are you alright? How is your ankle? Do want me to call someone?" The burly man gasped as Michael grabbed his arm. "Oh, my God! I'm so sorry!"

The burly man held a hand up and wheezed out, "Sorry, I shouldn't have stopped in the middle of the track."

"Oh, no," Michael said. "I was dazing off and didn't know where I was going. I should be apologizing!"

The man sat upright. "That would be the third time you would have, anyway."

Michael paused. He was right. "What's wrong with your foot?"

The man cringed as he tried to get up and Michael rushed to help him.

"I had a surgery done on it a few weeks ago, it's still a little sore, but the doctor said I should walk on it so it doesn't get stiff," the man said, standing up shakily. "Thank you."

Michael nodded. "You're welcome."

The burly man stood there with his weight his other foot and Michael was nodding excessively.

Silence.

Michael, still nodding stupidly, looked down at his feet and noticed that Sally wasn't there. Oh, crap….

Michael felt like grabbing his arm and making his own heart attack. She wasn't there. He lost her! He lost Sally! _He lost a talking cat_!

Michael looked around frantically. "I – I have to go…."

The burly man waved at Michael, but Michael didn't catch it since he began to run around the park screaming out Sally's name.

"Sally!" His eyes skimmed down the football field, but she wasn't there.

"Sally!" He looked over at the bushes, but she wasn't there.

"_Sally_!" He bent down into the many strollers, but was only met with a slap on the head and lectures from the mothers.

"SALLY!"

Michael sat defeated on a bench. He had lost a cat. He was….horrible. He rested his elbows on his heads and covered his face with his hands. What was he going to do? What if Sally got hit by a car? What if Rachel popped up? What if Sally went home? What if the big burly man's ankle was broken and he was going to get sued? Michael groaned and massaged his temple.

Someone sat next to him, but he didn't feel like looking over to see who it was. Then he felt something rub against his leg. He looked over. "Oh…."

It was Sally.

_Author's Note: I was going to call this chapter, "Bump," but, "Whoa," was my first choice, although I didn't want, "Whoa," as the chapter title at first since it sound more as a first person term. But I figured it fit more with chapter five than Bump. 'Cause, Bump? What in the world is that?_

_By the way, this is by no means is a filler. I don't believe in filler chapters. If it wasn't meant to be included in the story (or, novella, in this case), then why put it in? It's just a loss of writing genius and it makes the reader waste time reading something you could have incorporated some place else. Oh, well, just my two cents._

_Love, Amanda_

_PS – Hemingway is sexy. _


	5. Calls

Chapter Five: Calls

"I am the evil paperclip of Reception Land! _Fear me_…." Michael shook a paperclip in front of Ms. Lewis's face. "I want to _eat__you_!"

Ms. Lewis rolled her eyes. "Listen, Michael, Mr. Johnson is expecting some people to come by today to plan for the annual company party at the office, so try not to make us look bad like last year."

Michael frowned and dropped the paperclip onto his cluttered desk. "Ah, come on, Janes-A-Lot, have a heart?"

"You didn't show much of one when you almost got the caterer to quit, making Chuckie _Cheese_ look appealing."

Michael shook a finger at her, but then he smiled. "Missy Lewis?"

She sighed. "What, Michael?"

"I have a present for you."

"Alright."

"But first you have to close your eyes."

"Fine."

Michael grinned and opened a drawer in his desk and took out a paper airplane. "Okay, open them!" And he threw it at her.

Ms. Lewis opened her mouth, but she clamped it shut and looked at someone who just came into the building. She turned to Michael and whispered to him harshly: "Don't mess this up." She then left.

Michael gulped and looked over at the person coming in. He cocked his head to the side and grinned. It was the burly man he met at the park. Michael got a sticky note and scribbled on it so he'd look busy and hard-working when the burly man came up. Michael noticed he was holding something. He realized it was a cane. Michael suddenly didn't feel too hot.

Michael gulped and listened and watched as three _bonks_ hit the floor.

_Bonk_.

His right foot.

_Bonk_.

His left foot.

_Bonk_!

The cane.

Michael gulped. If this man was going to see Mr. Johnson – Michael tried not to be jealous – then Michael seriously hoped: a) he will only mention how Michael helped him up, and not about Michael plowing him over, and b) maybe he'd take a picture of Mr. Johnson and show it to Michael?

Who _didn't_ know their boss? Ants knew their boss. Priests knew their boss. Cat owners knew their boss.

And, yet, Michael didn't know his boss? "Brilliant, just brilliant." Michael widened his eyes and he clamped a hand in front of his mouth. He didn't just say that out loud.

"Hello, we meet again!" said the burly man.

Michael smiled. "It appears that we do, sir."

"Oh, please," the burly man waved a hand and scrunched up his nose, "call me Arthur. Arthur Fleming."

"Ian Fleming wrote James Bond," Michael commented.

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Really? I didn't know that."

Michael nodded. "Yes. I've never read anything from him, but I've seen the movies." He grinned in hopes that he didn't just blow any chance of Arthur taking a picture of Mr. Johnson.

"Neither have I." Michael was relieved.

Michael cleared his throat. "How may I help you? Would you like to enter our sweepstake to have your name on a bus? Or perhaps you would like to meet up with Mr. Johnson to plan for the company party?"

Arthur smiled. "Yes, the second one."

Michael smiled. He looked over a sheet of everyone's office number and scribbled down Mr. Johnson's on a fresh piece of paper and handed it to Arthur. "I hope you enjoy your time here." What was he? A _hotel_ receptionist?

Arthur smiled and said goodbye, turning towards the elevator. Should Michael ask him about the picture thing? Would Arthur actually do it? What did he have to lose? His job? His low paying salary?

_Say it! "Arthur – uh, Mr. Fleming – Arthur? Oh, okay. Arthur! Can you take a picture of Mr. Johnson for me? What? Um… collage."_

But he didn't get the chance. Arthur disappeared into the elevator and went onto his business.

A phone rang, and Michael, for one of the first times in his life, was excited to answer it. "Hello! Good morning! This is Pyramid Enterprise Inc! How may I help you?" Michael cringed. He just had to sound like a ten-year-old, didn't he?

The person on the other line didn't say anything for few seconds. Maybe they hung up? What if this was an important client? Michael ran a hand through his hair. He heard Mr. Johnson liked to hire people personally, but not so personal that he sees them himself. "Hello?" the person on the other line said.

They were still there! Michael felt the desire to squeal like a school girl. "How may I help you?" Michael was pleased at his business like tone.

"I'd like to talk to Mr. Johnson about an invite mess-up. He gave my home one too many."

"Alright, well Mr. Johnson is in a meeting right now, but it shouldn't be too long. May I put you on hold?" Michael cringed. Who in their right mind would like to be put on hold?

"Yes." This woman would, apparently.

"Okie dokie." Michael switched the lines. He leaned back into his chair and sighed, closing his eyes. He felt like taking nap. He skipped his lunch break, so he should be able to take at least catnap. Michael sighed again.

"Oh, it's you!"

Michael flew up and looked around everywhere. He knew that voice. That voice…. It was….

"Young man, so nice to meet you again," said Delilah Moore.

Michael gasped and forced a smile, hoping it looked right. "Why, hello, Ms. Moore."

"Oh!" She laughed and rubbed the receptionist desk with her forefinger. "Please, it's Delilah."

Michael looked down at her hand and smiled up at her with a charming grin. "Pleased to meet you again, Delilah."

She laughed once more. Michael glanced behind her before laughing with her. A sandwich boy walked pass them, staring oddly and Michael mouth to him, "_Help me_!"

He wasn't quite sure what Delilah did that made Michael not love her presence one hundred percent. She smelt nice, her teeth looked right, she didn't have a hump, she didn't talk like she had a nasal problem, nor did she bumble like and idiot or speak a mile a minute like Michael did; however, she still had some sort of uneasy feel to her. Maybe it was a premonition. Maybe it was Michael over-analyzing. Maybe it was Michael's active imagination, and he subconsciously thought Delilah as something bad.

But she looked friendly.

Almost _too_ friendly. Like she had a dark secret she didn't want anyone to find out. Was she a spy? A Russian spy?

If she was a Russian spy, why was she here? Was Michael unknowingly working for a communist? He had never seen Mr. Johnson. What if he was a cranky old Cuban communist? Did he have to be Cuban? Yes, because Michael saw the newer _Dirty Dancing_ the other month, and right now the only famous past communistic countries he could think of were Russia and Cuba and –

"Young man, are you alright?" Delilah asked.

Michael froze and found his hand was twitching.

Maybe he was over imagining things.

He cleared his throat. "So, how may I help you?"

She smiled. "I need to speak with Mr. Johnson. The meeting. I'm supposed to be there."

Michael searched for the sheet with the office room numbers, and copied down Mr. Johnson's again. "Cutting it quite close today, hmm?"

Delilah paled. "Oh, well, traffic was tough."

Michael nodded. "Yeah. Tougher to beat it in the mornings. All those commutes. Brutal."

Delilah grabbed the sticky note once Michael handed it to her and nodded at him. "Good day, young man."

Michael flicked his wrist at her and grinned, and it suddenly struck him: Delilah didn't know his name.

He liked learning people's names and knowing people knew his name. It was a rule he set up for himself. He wasn't great with everyone's face, but voices and names were his specialty. So it killed him inside knowing she didn't know his name.

Michael froze. His old girlfriend….what was her name? Michael gulped. She wasn't a great girlfriend, but they were _definitely_ close enough for him to remember her name – only he was spazzing out and momentarily forgot it.

Didn't those interns that scared him half to death call him a spaz?

Was he a spaz?

Michael figured that there was a chance he could be a spaz. He was taking Sally much better than the average person, but that didn't mean he was a spaz; he just abnormally understood. Though, he could be a spaz in a different context then some definitions. Some spazzes were weird and kooky, where as others were jumpy, nervous, or just a little odd.

"Damn," Michael muttered. "I _am_ a spaz."

But spazzes were cool. Spazzes could have their own TV show. Spazzes could fulfill their life goals and plans. Michael could get married and raise a family, get higher in the work food chain, write his script, and finally steal a peek at Mr. Johnson's face. Michael liked his goals, and if he was apparently a spaz, then he could still do them.

Michael sighed and looked at his sloppy desk. He attempted to pick up every pen and pencil and put them in a large mug he bought to put them in, but it was already full. He wondered what Rachel was doing.

Maybe she was walking the Saint Bernard she tripped over the first time he saw her. Maybe she was buying new shoes. Maybe she was drinking tea. She could be thinking about him. Michael fingered the mug.

What was it that he liked about Rachel? He didn't really know her personality, but she seemed really sweet. He liked how she fumbled when she talked at the supermarket, and how she matched her clothes. He liked her shoes. They were special and different. He like different. He wanted to see her again, and if he did get the chance to, he'd do something about it. He'd make a move. Show her he was interested in her. But he didn't know if he'd ever see her again.

"MICHAELl!" He looked over the desk and saw Ms. Lewis running over to him, breathing heavily.

She appeared by his desk and panted. Michael looked down at her concerned. "What's wrong?"

Ms. Lewis gulped. "The meeting. They don't have any food or drinks."

Michael's eyes widened and then he blinked repeatedly. "Where should I go?"

"Anywhere!" Ms. Lewis cried. "Just get things _fast_. I'll take care of the desk and phones."

Michael jumped out from his seat and grabbed his jacket.

"Go! Go!" Ms. Lewis said, pulling on the headset.

"How long is too long?" Michael said quickly as he walked backwards from the desk.

Ms. Lewis thought. "Twenty minutes?"

"Oh, my God!

* * *

Along his way to get coffee at a close by donut shop, Michael tripped three people, crashed into four, almost socked an elderly woman in the face, and ran into ongoing traffic. 

"Five coffees," Michael gasped, clutching the counter of the donut shop.

A bored looking chubby woman smacked her gum and turned to get some paper cups. She turned to the coffee maker and then Michael's eyes widened.

"Oh, no, no!" he called. "I mean ten!"

She got five more cups.

"Wait, no! Seven!"

She placed back three of the cups and smacked her gum.

Michael ran a hand through his hair and watched as she poured coffee into the first cup.

"Ten! Ten! Ten cups! Ten!" Michael cried. The woman didn't even raise an eyebrow as she retrieved the three other cups again. Michael looked through the counter glass and saw many different kinds of donuts. He needed small ones, and large ones, and medium ones…. Maybe he should get some cream filled ones?

"And, and!" Michael pressed his finger into the glass as he pointed at each donut. "I want a long-ish one, and a maple frosted one and some donut holes, the – the one that looks like a spaceship and….uh, not sure what that is, but I want it too!"

He heard a chuckle behind him and then a noise like someone cleared their throat. He twitched his head back to look at them, and then squawked when he saw it was Rachel.

Rachel!

"Rachel!"

She had one arm crossed in front of her chest, with the elbow of her other one resting on it, and she was hiding her eyes behind her fingers, a small smile on her face.

"Hello," she said a little amused. "In a hurry?"

Michael nodded excessively. He couldn't believe it! She was right _there_.

"I – I have to get drinks and stuff for my boss and I – I," he paused and then laughed. "What a coincidence!"

She smiled. "I'm running an errand for my stepmother. She likes donuts."

"Me too."

She nodded and then pointed behind him. "That your order?"

Michael turned around and saw the chubby woman was smacking her gum and looking off into the distance. She said the price and Michael pulled out his wallet a little too excitedly and slapped the money he owed down onto the counter. He took the holder with his coffees and the bag with the donuts. He stole a peek at the clock. He still had two minutes until he had to leave. He could risk talking to Rachel.

"Three glazed donuts, please," Rachel said in a rather quiet tone.

Michael leaned against the counter coolly. "So, do you like donuts?"

Rachel glanced at him and smiled. "Yes. My favorites are the chocolate covered sprinkle ones."

"I like the long ones with chocolate frosting."

The chubby woman handed Rachel her donuts and Rachel paid.

Michael rushed to the door and held it open for her, almost losing a coffee. She smiled shyly and said, "Thank you."

He decided to walk with her, since she was going in the direction of the office. Should he ask her out? Michael decided to casually check her out.

Rachel was wearing a nice looking shirt today. It was red and flowed down to the middle of her thighs. Michael stole a peek at her legs in dark blue jeans. They seemed to have a nice shape. They weren't all that large; just like he preferred. She was probably a two or three. Michael once dated a girl with a size ten, and he felt self-conscious because she weighed more than him. It was at that moment he decided smaller pant size girls were for him.

Rachel glanced over at him and then looked shocked. Michael widened his eyes and felt his cheek get a little hot. She then smiled at him, and walked a little faster. Michael grinned and his stomach fluttered as he stepped up his pace. Rachel took bigger steps, and soon they were speed walking together down the block.

They came to a corner, and Rachel stopped, soon breaking out into laughter.

Michael laughed with her, and saw Rachel was getting out her car keys. If he was going to ask her out, this would be his only chance.

He licked his lips. "Um, Rachel?"

Her laughter died down into feminine chuckles and she turned to look at him, her hand pausing in her purse, the faint sparkle of her keys glistening from the sunlight. "Yes, Michael?"

"Um…." He licked his lips again. "I was wondering – um…."

She raised an eyebrow. "What?"

He looked down at his coffees and sighed, and then licked his lips one last time. He looked over at her. "Are you doing anything next Saturday night?"

* * *

Michael could air guitar; he was so happy. Not only had Rachel agreed to go out with him, but she gave him her number to "chit-chat" _and _he made it back to the office a bit early because he nearly skipped the way over. 

Michael dashed through the revolving doors, narrowly missing getting trapped inside it and immediately went to the receptionist desk to find it empty and missed calls and a new pile of papers. Michael ran a hand through his hair. Where on earth was Ms. Lewis?

Michael checked the desk for any note she may have left him, but found none. Michael peered down at the coffees and donuts. What was he supposed to do with them?

Something caught his eye. It was on the computer monitor right by his bird calendar. It was a sticky note. Michael leaned across the keyboard and tore it off the monitor. It had Ms. Lewis's flowery, slanted handwriting. It read:

_Michael,_

_I had an emergency call from Mr. Johnson and had to leave the desk. I left at 1:35, a little bit before you should have returned. _

_Lucky you gets to give the drinks and foods to Mr. Johnson yourself._

– _Lewis_

Michael gazed up from the note. He was going to be able to deliver the coffees and donuts to Mr. Johnson.

He could scream.

_Author's Note: Permission to hide chocolate from anyone who didn't get the Cinderella fun in this chapter?_

_Anyway, next chapter begins right where this one let's off._


	6. Salutations

Chapter Six: Salutations

Michael grinned from ear to ear as he juggled the coffees and donuts in one hand, calling the elevator with his other. He kept sing-chanting over and over again in his head, "I'm going to meet Mr. Johnson! I'm going to meet Mr. Johnson!" The elevator door opened and a group of people dressed in business-like attire stepped out. Michael looked down at his dress shirt, black pants, and slightly shined shoes. Mr. Johnson would be proud. Hopefully.

Michael stepped inside, clumsily almost getting clawed by the doors, and pressed a button with his elbow for level six. The doors shut and Michael heard a yell of annoyance from outside.

The elevator went up one level and the doors opened. A woman looking to be in her mid-thirties came in and pressed for the lobby. She jiggled her foot and crossed her arms over her chest. She looked back at Michael. He gave her a toothy grin and she looked him up and down, and then she noticed the coffees and donuts.

"You're Michael Slack, right?" she said.

Michael raised an eyebrow. "Swan. Michael Swan."

"You're the receptionist, right?"

Michael nodded. "Yes, why?"

"Well, I was supposed to cover you while you were gone; Jane told me so. But since we met up, maybe I could deliver those for you?" She said, eying the coffees before smiling up at him innocently.

Michael looked down at the coffees and donuts. It made sense what she was saying. She could go deliver the coffees and donuts and then he could go back to the desk. But yet this was the only chance he may ever get to see Mr. Johnson, and she wanted to _steal_ that from him? He glanced above the elevator doors. They still had two floors. He should distract her.

"Well, I dunno, they're kind of heavy…."

"Oh, come on. They can't be that heavy. You don't seem to be struggling."

"It really isn't any trouble for me, so I can do it."

She stepped towards him and reached for the donut bag. "Oh, please. Just let me take it to Mr. Johnson."

"No!" Michael took a forceful step back and a coffee shook, but the woman didn't stop. Michael glanced around him and saw they hadn't even raised one floor. He focused back towards her and saw her snaking her way over to him. Michael tightened his hold on the donuts and pushed the coffees closer to him.

She had nearly cornered him before he glided along the walls, dodging her when she lunged for the donut bag again. The doors opened for the fifth floor. They stopped and looked away from each other as an oblivious grey haired marketing executive with a hearing aide stepped into the elevator and pressed for the lobby. Michael grinned to himself and fought the urge to stick his tongue out at the woman. The doors opened for level six and Michael stepped out, still holding the coffees and donuts.

He looked back and saw the doors close and the woman creeping to a corner and frowning. Michael smiled down victoriously at the coffee and donuts, and walked down the level.

Compared to the lobby, this floor was a lot calmer. But also it was very boring. It had boring white walls with tacky paintings and gray floors. The doors were pitch black, and there were long beams of light coming from the ceiling, making Michael squint as he looked up at them.

He noticed each door had a number beside it. He was looking for E9. Michael felt his heart pound in his throat when he saw E4. He was so close to Mr. Johnson, it was maddening.

"Seven….eight….nine. Bingo," Michael said, halting by E9. He looked down at the donuts and coffees and sighed. His hands were full.

Slowly, Michael brought the donut bag up to his mouth and held it with his teeth, and knocked against the black office door. He grabbed the donut bag again and waited.

The door opened two inches instantly, a nose sticking out the door.

"What do you want?" they said.

Michael grinned to the door and nose. "I brought the food and refreshments."

"Alright," they said. "Give it here and I'll give it to everyone."

"But…."

"But, what?"

"Oh, nothing, I guess."

"Then give it here!"

Michael gave him the donuts and tried to squeeze the coffees through the small crack. Michael waved at the nose. "Goodbye…."

They grunted.

The nose crept from out the door and Michael waited for it to close and see all his chances of seeing Mr. Johnson slip through his fingers.

A voice tore through the tense hallway air. "Is that you Michael?'

Michael held his breath.

"Ah, young man! Come in, we were just talking about you."

There was a moment of silence in which Michael thought was directed towards Mr. Johnson for approval of him coming into the room. The door's small opening widened and he stepped inside.

The room was a corporate setting, and it had a hidden calmness to it. It was still quite business looking with a long narrow table with ten chairs along the sides and one on each head. Michael looked back at the door and saw a small ginger haired intern leaning against the ocean blue paint Michael remembered Ms. Lewis ordering for the repainting of some rooms.

He turned back to the table and walked closer to it, seeing Arthur and Delilah on either side of the table, and at the head sat a man dressed in a sharp black suit with big, brown oriental eyes. That must have been Mr. Johnson.

Michael held his breath.

Delilah's eyes looked at Michael in stunning admiration and Arthur looked at him with an odd twinkle in his eyes. Mr. Johnson was looking him up and down, as if inspecting him. Mr. Johnson tightened a corner of his mouth and cocked his head to the side. Michael wasn't sure what that meant.

Mr. Johnson stood up and walked over to him. He stuck out his hand. "Michael Swan, correct?" he asked.

Michael was taken aback by his Scottish accent since he looked Asian. Michael nodded, noticing Mr. Johnson was fairly tall, especially for his race, beating Michael by an inch, who was just six feet.

Michael nodded, and took his hand, speechless.

"I've only heard good things about you Michael," he said. "Did you know I was actually supposed to make it to your interview, but I had gotten called into a meeting?"

Michael smiled largely, but shook his head no. He wondered if that was a line or not. But whatever the reason it was said, Mr. Johnson was supposed to be at his interview. He already had the date with Rachel next Saturday to look forward to, and now he had the wonderful knowledge of knowing Mr. Johnson was supposed to be at his interview. He could cry.

Mr. Johnson smiled down at Michael whether because of Michael's loss of words, or gratitude that he was able to get that off his chest. He offered Michael a seat, and Michael robotically sat down, never stopping his smile or his goggly eyes at Mr. Johnson.

There was a cough at the door and Mr. Johnson nodded off at the intern, who went out the door for probably a bathroom break.

"Good timing you had when you came with the drinks and food, young man," Delilah said. "We were just going to take ten."

Arthur leaned across the table. "So, Michael how was your day so far?"

"Well, as always a great time," Michael said with a winning smile.

Mr. Johnson guffawed. "Mr. Swan, you're the receptionist," he said. "Tell us a story about a wrong call."

"Oh." Michael rubbed the toe of his dulled shoes into the carpeting. "Well, one time this man thought I was a host at a fancy restaurant."

Delilah was resting her hand onto her palm, Arthur was leaning in, and Mr. Johnson looked interested and amused.

"And there was this one time I had to kill this spider," Michael said. Mr. Johnson smirked. Michael rested his forearms along the table and traced his fingers around to act as the spider and him. "It was scrambling along the floors and one lady saw it and ran towards me screaming for me to kill it and then she pointed it out. I had to take off my shoe and lunge for it." Mr. Johnson was the first to laugh at it.

Arthur got up and went to get everyone some coffees. Michael stared down at his when Arthur handed it to him and muttered a thank you. He picked it up, and then put it down. Maybe if he took a really quick sip, he wouldn't taste it? He might have a tea bag in his wallet….

Arthur finished handing out the coffees and he took the first sip. Michael stared across at him, and felt Delilah's arm press against his. Arthur coughed and Mr. Johnson laughed again. Michael sniffed the coffee and then drank a little from it. He chocked.

"It's so cold!" he yelped.

Mr. Johnson laughed harder and then set his away from him. "Oh, well. The thought that counts. Thank you anyway, Mr. Swan."

Michael nodded at him.

"Say, Mr. Swan, are you doing anything four Saturdays from now?"

He had that date with Rachel next Saturday, but he was clear four Saturdays from now.

"Is that the 15th?"

"Yes," Mr. Johnson replied.

"Then, no," Michael said. "I don't have anything planned yet."

Mr. Johnson smiled. He scooted out from the table and went to another dark table Michael just noticed and opened a manila folder, taking out a piece of paper. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a pen and wrote on the paper. He came back to the table and handed it to Michael.

It was an invitation to the company party.

_Author's Note: Many important dates came up in this chapter and the last, so I figured while typing up this chapter I better make a timeline. (This story takes place in 2007.)_

_Chapter 1 – November 3__rd__ and 4__th__. Takes place on the day before Daylight Savings Time and the day of Daylight Saving Time. If needed, reread section where Michael finds his watch and sets it back an hour for the next day. (And luckily without looking at a calendar, like in the story, November 3, 2007 is a Saturday. Kind of funny, huh?)_

_Chapter 2 – November 5__th__. A Monday._

_Chapter 3 – November 5__th__ again. A Monday._

_Chapter 4 – November 6__th__. A Tuesday._

_Chapter 5 – Jumps to November 23__rd__. A Friday. Don't be confused with this one. (PAY NOTE: I edited in chapter five for what Saturday Michael and Rachel's date is going to be on. I just put Saturday, but since November 23__rd__ is a Friday, I thought it would be more realistic to make it the next Saturday, December 1__st_

_Chapter 6 – November 23__rd__ again. A Friday._

_DAY THE COMPANY PARTY IS __**DECEMBER 15**__**th**___

_If you have any questions don't be afraid to ask in a review or message me from my profile._

_Thank you. ;)_


	7. Speech

Chapter Seven: Speech

"Michael, this is lame."

"Oh, John," Michael said, shaking his head. He set out two plates in front of them on his scratched up coffee table he got when his sister came a year ago and pitied his living conditions. "I know you'll enjoy it. Now, do you like sugar or cream in your tea?"

John narrowed his eyes. "How about your blood?"

Michael got up and laughed. "John. Such a joker."

Michael had tricked John earlier to come by his home so they could talk, and then thanked John for coming and said that they were going to have a tea party. Michael had run off saying how he spent all of last night trying to perfect biscuits, and couldn't help himself from using them today.

"Do you know what Sandy and I could be doing right now?" John growled.

Michael hummed under his breath and disappeared into the kitchen. He came out moments later with a plate of his biscuits along with a tub of butter. "Tea's almost done." He set everything down on the coffee table and took a seat. "Biscuit?" he asked John.

"_No_."

Michael clicked his tongue. "So touchy."

John glared at him and Michael rolled his eyes.

"Honestly John, it's _just_ a tea party. You can get kinky with Sandy some other Sunday."

"But this was _the_ Sunday."

Michael paused and scrunched his eyebrows. "Well, then," he lowered his gaze to the plate of biscuits in his hands, and then plopped down on his couch. "Biscuit to tie you over?"

John looked up at the ceiling. "Why must you do this to me?" He sighed. "Michael."

"Yes?"

"I'm having trouble with this….tea party."

Michael smiled at John and scrapped some butter on a few biscuits and put them on John's plate. "What's there to be having trouble with? Besides, I haven't had a tea party in so long. Last one I had had been about three months ago with…." Michael really needed to remember his old girlfriend's name.

John glared at him and took a forceful bite from his biscuit. When he spoke, he didn't even bother to cover his mouth. Michael grimaced. "Michael, you're a grown man. Twenty-seven, _nearly_ twenty-eight, and as far as I'm concerned, your _niece_ doesn't even have tea parties."

"My niece is now twelve," Michael said proudly. "However, if she still had tea parties – _I_ wouldn't do this – but her classmates would be concerned."

"But what about you?" John challenged. "You're over twice her age and you're having tea parties."

"Well, my first tea party was when I was twenty-three," Michael said. "Unless you count the time my mother let me drink some when she and some friends were talking when I was thirteen, but it wasn't much fun for me…."

"Why did I ever meet you?' John muttered.

Michael grinned at the memory. Michael and John met in high school. John was a new kid and Michael had some tea mix. He offered some to John, and John didn't have any friends yet, so he took the tea. Michael figured John just adored tea like him, and he thought that was why John agreed to take them. The thought of John only taking the tea because he didn't have any friends had never crossed Michael's mind. Michael then brought out a plastic baggie and showed John all the packets of tea he kept, and John asked him if he had an OCD.

The kettle whistled at that moment and John groaned.

By the next hour, they had finished up the whole kettle and they were sitting side by side on Michael's couch that was older than him, looking at an old yearbook.

John snorted and pointed at some random kid. "Is that a _mullet_?"

Michael snickered. "Who had a mullet? Buzz cut, baby."

John turned to Michael and raised an eyebrow. "I remember you getting a Mohawk one year. So, who's to talk?"

Michael smirked and shook his head from side to side. "I distinctively remember you humming Vanilla Ice songs under your breath and getting that trademark haircut, _plus_ nearly having a ring put on your–"

"So maybe my hair was a little tweaked, but – a mullet?" John chuckled. "Who in their right mind would – Whoa?"

"Huh?"

John pointed somewhere in the page and Michael looked down carelessly, then his breath caught in this throat. "Wow, I don't remember her."

"Me either," John said. "What's her name?"

Michael chewed on his lip and looked at a caption. "Veronica Mort."

John gasped. "Oh, I remember her! She's the one who set the fire alarm."

"Oh, yeah! And the cops took her away."

"That was a fun day."

"Indeed."

"Didn't you date her?"

"No, that was you."

"No, that was after – uh, Lorine Vasquez?"

Michael scrunched his eyebrows. "It was? I could have sworn it was you."

"No." John paused and then looked up. "At least, I don't think it was me."

Michael pierced his lips together and they both stared off into space.

"I don't think either of you dated her," said a tired voice.

Michael was alarmed to see Sally enter the room. He glanced over at John frantically, but John was still staring of into space. It was like he didn't even notice Sally. Michael looked back and Sally and she fixated at John. She jogged towards them, and hopped on the couch.

John raised an eyebrow and turned towards her. "I didn't know you got a cat."

Michael laughed nervously. He wasn't quite sure why John didn't hear her. "Oh, yeah. It was the cat–" And his ex-girlfriend's name was? "–_she_ would feed."

"She?"

"She."

"Who's?"

Michael stood up abruptly. "Is Sally bothering you? Would you like me to put her in the bedroom?"

"Huh? No, that won't be necessary," John said incredulously. "Mike, are you okay?"

Michael squeezed past John's legs and picked up Sally. "What? Oh, yeah. I'm fine. I just, um…. I'll put Sally away."

"But, I don't–"

"I'll be right back!" Michael yelled, disappearing down the hall.

A million thoughts were racing through Michael's mind. Was he insane? Could Sally _really_ talk? Was John just pretending like he was hearing things even though it was really Sally? Did Sally have a hidden agenda? Was she even a cat?

Oh, no. She wasn't a cat. She was a robot. Michael figured he'd rather he crazy. What if she was an alien trying to find secret information from him to destroy the planet? Michael felt embarrassed. If that story was true, then he'd be a bad host. Horrible, even. Why'd Sally choose him when she could have chosen John or Ms. Lewis? They were smarter than him and would know stuff. Sally could easily get information from them, but Michael was an unwritten book. He was….plotless. He was without an author. He couldn't even get a copyright.

He was useless.

Michael dashed into his room and shut the door with a bang. He put Sally on his bed and paced around. Sally sat up and watched him.

Michael knew what he would do to stop her from destroying the earth. He would stop feeding her tuna, and then she'd be begging for mercy. She's be at his feet hoping she would please him into letting her have more tuna. She would be wrapped around his little finger.

"Michael," Sally said.

Michael stopped pacing and ran to her. He bowed and rested his head on the bed and wailed. "I'm sorry I'm such a bad information person! I'm so sorry! Just please don't do anything to me!"

Sally blinked. "Michael, I have no clue what you're talking about."

Michael sniffled and raised his head. "You mean you're not an alien?"

Sally looked at him like he had grown two heads. "What?"

"And – and you're not going to destroy earth?"

"Michael, what on earth are you talking about?"

"Well, I thought you were an alien."

"You're weird."

Michael thought back to those interns. Maybe they seriously were right to call him a spaz. After all, was he not talking to his pet cat?

Michael brought himself together and gazed at Sally straight in the eyes. "Why didn't John hear you?"

Sally narrowed her eyes at him. "I had a feeling this would come up."

"Well?"

"Well, I assure you, I am not an alien and I am not out to destroy the earth."

"But?" Michael urged.

"But, I'm not the average cat."

Michael snorted.

"Actually, I'm a testing animal."

What?

"What do you mean?" Michael stuttered.

Sally lay down. "Well, you know. I was tested on."

What Michael concluded was that scientist tested on her and somehow it let her talk to….him. It let her talk to only him. Odd.

"So what happened?"

"Well, the scientist found I had grown smarter after my first few tests, so they decided to stop testing products on me and focus on my new abilities." Sally looked at Michael to make sure he was following her. "They found out my brain was highly advanced, and my body had grown to fit my newly enlarged cerebrum. So, that's why I'm a little big for a female."

Michael nodded and side commented.

"After a few years of them trying to find out my new capabilities and trying to reproduce it on other animals, I wanted out of everything. I wanted to scratch my claws on trees and roll in the grass on a sunny day. I wanted to eat birds and nap under bushes. All I had there was noses pressed up against me, and bad cat food."

"So, how'd you escape?' Michael asked.

"First, I had to learn the language. English," Sally said. "I also learned some Spanish. Yo quiero una naranja."

"Yo quiero Taco Bell."

"Yeah, anyway," Sally said, looking at Michael oddly. "When I had mostly mastered the language, I decided to learn how the doors to the cages opened. I watched how the scientists opened my door and others'. After that, I need to plan an escape route.

"The door had to be pulled open, so first I needed to figure out how to open them. So I had to become friends with the monkeys. They're odd creatures. The hallway outside the door was very bland and almost clear at night, so my chances of escaping somewhere past midnight were succeeding past other times. I decided upon four AM, since that was the ghost hour.

"After that, all I had to do was get outside unseen, and since it was night, no one would ever know."

Michael was speechless. Somehow, the alien theory was a bit happier to him. However, Sally's story did make sense, and Michael had trouble seeing anything wrong with it. Sally's speech wasn't how most people talked, much less a cat. Being around scientist, she would generally learn to speak like a foreign language textbook.

"But, but." Michael licked his lips. "How can you only talk to me?"

Sally glanced at her paws. "I'm not quite sure. I've tried talking to other people to try out my English, but no one ever heard me but you."

"Oh."

"Michael."

"Yeah?"

"As much as I'd love to talk about my hard past, John's waiting."

"Oh, yeah, sure." Michael got up and turned towards the door.

"Oh, and Michael?" Sally said her voice cutting through the air.

"Yeah?"

"Can I possible have some warm milk while you coop me up in here?"

_Author's Note: Sorry about the, er, long wait? I'm not at all usually like this, but that time of the story came up where I'm scared at the thought of this thing and then whenever someone mentions it I'm like, "Story? What story? I'll __**kill**__ you!" _

_Hope Sally's story wasn't too blunt. Plus, I put in the animal testing gig for plot (duh) and so I can send out the message to stop animal testing!_

_I have a blooper for this chapter. So if you want to see it, check out my profile page, and click on the link entitled: Sally Knows WHAT?_

_Also, summer vacation is coming in two weeks (EEEEE!!!!), so I'll have more time to write this shindig. I'll also be editing in and out some stuff to make it more presentable, because I'm going to shoot for School of the Arts in SF. So, wish me luck. But, I have all summer and to December. crosses fingers_


	8. Stylin'

Chapter Eight: Stylin'

Michael was on a pre-date mission: make his hair somewhat more desirable. He could put some gel on that one spot on the side with the rogue spike. When he was a kid, his mother would grab him by the shoulder and pull him to the bathroom. Then she would wet a comb and run it through his hair.

His sister, however, in all her eighties hair care knowledge, decided that hair spray was the way to go, and so Michael's eyelashes stuck together every morning. Some people mistook him for a girl with incredibly long lashes until he turn ten. When he turned thirteen, he asked his dad about his heritage, because he was the only boy in his class with a beard.

His father said, "It's just a new faze, Mikey. Like that one curly spot on your head."

"What curly spot, Dad?" Michael had asked.

"Exactly the point, Mike," his father said, patting his shoulder. "Exactly the point."

Since then, Michael was hoping that going bald would help him. Unfortunately, he met John before that point, and chose to have a Mohawk instead. He was almost about to dye it bright red to represent suffering, when his mother came in, screaming about how Michael was bleeding all over the place.

Michael blinked away the memories and focused back at the issue at hand. Should he get mega hold, or the regular?

Most likely, his hair won't obey, so if he got the regular, his hair would be covered and as hard as a brick. However, if he got the mega hold, he may forget it was a mega hold and apply too much at first, ending up looking like a member of The Beatles.

Maybe having a head as hard as a brick wasn't all too desirable.

His sister knew a lot about hair. Maybe he should give her a call?

Michael reached into his pocket and took out his cell phone. He weeded through his contacts until he found his sister.

His sister was into popular music of today, where as Michael was more into songs of the 90s and prior. His sister also liked to talk, and if she couldn't reach the phone, then she wanted the caller to be entertained. That was why when he called her up, instead of hearing a regular old ring tone, he was listening to Hey There Delilah.

He was suddenly stricken with thoughts of Delilah Moore and their first meeting when she offered him a candy. He almost vomited in his mouth.

"Hello?"

It was his sister.

"Caroline, hi!"

"….Michael?'

"Swan!"

"Mikey!"

Michael grinned and ran a hand through his hair at the old nickname his family called him ever since he could remember. "Hey, how are you? How's Becky?" Becky was his niece.

"Oh, she's doing great." Caroline paused as if she wasn't sure if she should continue. "And, um…."

"What? Is she failing math?" Michael laughed.

"She has….a boyfriend."

Michael blinked. Well, that was rather unexpected. "Oh – oh, really?"

"Yes."

"Tell me he's cute," Michael said in a girly voice, "because if he's not cute, she _has_ to be dumb."

Caroline laughed. "You're taking it better than Rich."

Rich was Michael's brother-in-law. Nice fellow. Very hygienic.

"What did Rich do? Have sit down with her?'

"No."

Michael was shocked. Rich even told him before that when Becky had her first boyfriend he was going to give her the Talk.

"Then what?" Michael asked.

"He didn't say anything at first, actually," she said. "Just kind of stood there blinking a lot and saying, 'what,' over and over. It was kind of cute, but then Becky asked if she can go to the movies with her boyfriend Friday."

Michael widened his eyes. Even though his thought about what Rich must have said after Becky asked about Friday, he couldn't help having the first thought be that his twelve-year-old niece's love life was more action packed than his. He may be going on a date tonight, but his last girlfriend was a little short of a toxic waste dumb, and Becky seemed generally happy with her boyfriend.

"And?" Michael urged.

"And, what?" Caroline replied coolly.

"What did Rich say to that?"

"Oh, well." Caroline laughed. "_A_c_tually_, you caught me right in the middle of it."

"Where are you right now?" Michael asked, eying a bottle of mousse.

"The bathroom?"

Michael burst out laughing right in front of the hair products. "The _bathroom_?"

"Yeah," she said, sounding embarrassed.

"Well, then," Michael continued, "I'll get to the point of the call. I need your help."

"About what?"

"I need to know what to use in my hair."

Michael thought for a second that the line went dead, but then he heard a squawk in the background he recognized at Rich's.

"Hello? Cary?" Michael whispered, not quite sure if he should speak loud to her to not.

What if at the exact moment he asked about hair help, Rich screamed out, "NOT UNDER MY ROOF! FRENCH KISSING – NO!" It didn't seem that would be what he said, though. Michael would have heard it.

"Cary?" he repeated.

"_Hair_ advice?"

Michael chose to stay silent.

"You called me for _hair_ advice?"

"I have a date?"

"Really?" Her tone drastically changed, reminding Michael of a hormonal girl.

"Yes." He grinned. "Her name is Rachel, but people called her Chicky in high school."

"Chicky?"

"She said, 'Don't ask,' so I didn't."

"So trustworthy."

"I know." However, all he people he told about her being called Chicky would include: John, Ms. Lewis, Sally, the lady at in the dairy aisle, Rachel accidentally when he called to get her address, and now Caroline.

"Anyway, so what do you need hair advice on?"

"I have a spike."

"Ah."

Ah?

"Oh, well," Caroline drifted out, hopefully in thought, "maybe you can just work with your natural hair. I once heard a girl talking about how she thought your hair was cute when it was messy."

"Really?"

"Yes." Michael heard another squawk and Caroline paused to probably eavesdrop. "So, if Rachel isn't anyone cool, she'll hate your hair. But if she _is_ cool, by all means, you'll have her choking on her drool."

"Thanks, that was so romantic."

"You're welcome."

"Fill me in on the family later."

"Sure can do."

"Bye."

"Bye."

Michael sighed and stuffed his phone back into his pocket. He ran a hand through his hair and scratched his head. If he heard anything his sister said, Michael would buy that gel, but instead, he decided to spend that money on Rachel.

-

Michael had cleaned his truck twice, cleaned his teeth three times for five minutes, asked Sally for advice on what to wear, called his sister for hair advice again, and drove around Rachel's block incase he was going to vomit.

The longest moment in his entire life was spent turning off his pick-up and then rubbing his legs, contemplating whether Rachel would hate him for eternity if he ran away screaming right then.

Somehow, he made it to the door without ducking into a bush and hiding. He gulped and pressed the doorbell. He shivered as the bell rung through her home like a giant gong, and then he actually saw her home.

He felt really poor.

No, not really poor: incredibly poor.

Was she looking for Prince Charming? Maybe he could just be Charming? What would she say when she saw his truck? It had dings and writing on the back seats. Would she like the "I luv unkal Mikal" graffiti on the back? What about the scratch marks on the passenger seat when Sally dug her claws in the car so she won't have to go to the park? What if she –?

The door opened and Michael wasn't met with Rachel. It was a plump blonde girl about his height with a long neck and a large nose. Michael gulped as she sized him up.

Then all of a sudden, she belched out, "RACHEL! That guy is here!"

That guy? Oh, he saw how this was to Rachel. He was just "that guy." Well, he may have just been "that guy," but he knew a thing or two about girls. He dated a foreign exchange student in high school who spoke little English. He can take on Rachel easily.

But she looked exquisite. She was wearing a little black dress with sleek, however barefoot. Michael looked down at himself, quickly eying the roses he snipped from his neighbor's yard before gazing at his dark blue jeans and dress shirt.

He had the dress code.

Rachel came down to the door, the blonde girl stepping back, giving Rachel an icy look. "Hey, Michael," Rachel said a bit nervous. She began to pull at a curl that came loose from her adorable bun that Michael had the sudden urge to touch.

Michael tightened his hold on the roses, maneuvering his fingers around the thorns, but pricked himself anyway. He swallowed and licked his lips too many times than he should have.

Rachel was smiling at him always, maybe it was his product-less hair or maybe it was the weather. On the other hand, she maybe was also just happy to see him. Michael gazed down at the roses again.

"Uh, they have –" he paused. What if he said they had thorns, and she found out with super sonic deductive reasoning that he plucked them from his neighbor's yard? He moved his hand, tightening his grip without thinking, and gasped. He felt him palm grow warm and licked his lips. Could someone die from pricking his or her hand on rose thorns? If the rose had pesticide on it, maybe. Michael was going to die. He licked his lips once more.

"Michael, are you alright?" Rachel asked concernedly.

A few seconds passed before he nodded. "Yeah, yeah. I'm okay." He gave her a reassuring smile just in case.

"Hey, you," said the blonde girl. "Aren't you going to give her the flowers?"

Michael looked back at the flowers again. He palm was still warm. "Eventually," he said without much thought.

Rachel just raised an eyebrow. "Michael, would you like to come in just for a moment? I need to do a few things before we can go."

Michael nodded, suddenly feeling a chill. She opened the door wider and gave the blonde girl a look Michael had never seen Rachel use before. The blonde girl seemed just as cold to her. Michael had a sick feeling as if Rachel's family was not as loving as his was to each other.

When he got insides, he seriously rethought about labeling himself incredibly poor in comparison. He was pulling out couch cushions and giving himself crying rights if he found a quarter.

Rachel's home reminded him of a one of those trick homes he saw on TV. The outside made it look somewhat big, but in reality, it could eat his place completely and still have room for a second course.

Rachel came from behind, hooked her arm into his, and guided him to the living room. "I'll be quick. I just need to touch up." She smiled up at him and Michael smiled back.

"Cool."

"Five minutes at the most," she said and began to walk backwards. She disappeared up a stairway. She had a stairway. He could cry.

He then realized he was still holding the thorn-infested flowers, and the blonde girl was staring at him. Michael licked his lips and was all of a sudden thankful that Rachel was already stunning. Her touch ups shouldn't be too long of a wait.

_Author's Note: All right, a little curious about something, so I am just going to ask people. Anyone catch Michael's nervous habit yet? He's done it before and in this chapter. _

_Chapter one was edited to better suit the story. Originally I was going to have Michael have a different personality, but once I got more into the story, I found chapter one Michael and Sally Knows Best Michael were different. Chapter one is just worded differently so Michael sounds more like Michael….in an argument._

_If you want to compare the two chapters, just go to my Sally Knows WHAT? blooper blog to see the original chapter one._


	9. Princify

Chapter Nine: Princify 

Michael didn't have to wait too long to make an uncomfortable conversation with the blonde girl, but he did have to explain the blood. When Rachel came down the stairs, she saw Michael being hovered over by the blonde girl, whom was splattering cream over his hand and wrapping it up lazily with medical tape. Rachel had to redo it, and Michael had to push away un-prince-ly thoughts.

Rachel ended up liking his truck. Apparently, her dad had a truck, but the second after she mentioned her dad, she turned a little pale and didn't say much until Michael cracked a joke about a walrus and a penguin.

"Rachel." Michael glanced over at her before he drove through an intersection. "Do you have any allergies?" Just to make sure if she'll burst out into hives at the restaurant.

"Dust," she said, "but I haven't ever met a person who isn't."

Michael laughed. "Yeah. I'm allergic to that too."

"I get sunburns," Rachel added.

Michael glanced over at her again, and saw her legs were on the pale side. He looked at his tanned arms and smiled. "I'm a tanner."

Rachel turned to him when the light turned red, and Michael turned towards her too.

"I hate you," she said, grinning. "I have to coat myself with sun block or else I'll turn into a lobster."

Michael cocked an eyebrow and gazed with a sigh at the taillights of the car in front of him. "Well, I wear sun block too, but I can't say I'll bake."

Rachel laughed. "You health freak."

"Tea is good for your health."

"I like tea."

Michael could have screamed if he wasn't trying to impress her. Instead, he took a deep breath of air, squealed in his mind, and grinned at her.

"No way."

"Way." Rachel paused and scrunched her eyebrows. "You know, you were a bit intimidating in the tea aisle that one time."

Michael saw the light change, and the car ahead of him moved.

"I was?" he asked, wondering is he heard her right.

"Yep," she said. "You just seemed to know your way around everything and I couldn't pronounce some of the teas." She laughed "And normally when someone with no knowledge on something meets some with tons of knowledge on that something, they feel a little low."

"Was I really that bad?" Michael asked.

"Well, when I picked up the camel tea, and you did too, I was pretty stoked."

Michael snorted. "Stoked."

"Oh, yeah. Sorry," Rachel murmured. "Just kind of came out."

"I haven't heard that in a while," Michael said, chuckling. "And it's chamomile, by the way."

"I knew I was wrong," Rachel said, snapping her fingers but it came out sounding more like a rock scrapping against sand paper. She mumbled at her fingers.

"I can't snap either," Michael said. "My niece tried to teach me, and even when I told her I was a lost case she didn't give up….until she really found out I was a lost case."

Rachel giggled, and Michael smiled. "Oh, sorry!" she said. Michael could have laughed. She was embarrassed for laughing at him! He had to make it up to her somehow…. He had to….

He hiccupped.

For the record, he didn't mean to hiccup. It just happened. It was a pure mistake that seemed to have made Rachel a bit at ease, yet made Michael go on edge.

"Do you like loud –" Michael hiccupped. "– music at a restaurant?"

Rachel fiddled with her fingers. "Erm, no."

"Go_OD_." Michael's cheeks reddened. Maybe talking while hiccupping wasn't the best. He heard about people hiccupping for days, weeks – even years! He hoped that wouldn't happen to him. Not only would it be a very painful experience, but what if Rachel thought he had some allergic reaction to her that caused him to hiccup?

Michael gulped, and mid swallow, he hiccup and started chocking.

"Oh, my God!" Rachel exclaimed, turning frantically towards him. "Are you all right? We should pull over!"

Michael nodded, his eyes tearing him. Quite lucky for them, the street they were on wasn't very crowded, and they were able to find a spot quickly. Michael turned the car off and Rachel busied herself with unbuckling his seatbelt and pounding his back.

Michael's coughing subdued, and they both sat back in their seats exhausted.

"Never….in my life….have I," Michael managed in a wheeze.

Rachel rubbed his shoulder. "It's okay. Just breathe."

Michael gulped. "That….was….something…."

"Yep."

"I'm sorry….I chocked…..and…."

Michael stopped talking, and he heard Rachel inhale sharply. Was he going to hiccup again, or….?

He sneezed.

"Gesundheit," Rachel whispered.

Michael laughed. "Thanks…. Much….appreciated."

"Take a breath there, champ," Rachel said, patting his back. "Rome wasn't built in a day and you should, uh – take the break."

Michael gulped and breathed heavily. "I think…I'm good."

"You sure?"

Michael paused, and then nodded. "Yeah, I'm good."

"Good."

Maybe Michael's health was all right, but how was having a hiccup attack and trying to swallow whilst hiccup going make everything better? That was like saying if an elephant swallowed a mouse, it wouldn't freak out and start hyperventilating. Michael turned the truck back on, and pulled out.

"Anyway," Michael said, tightening his grip on the wheel, "who was blondie at the door?"

"Huh?" Rachel said, flattening out her dress. "Oh, that was my sister. …Stepsister."

"Neat," Michael said, and Rachel burst out laughing.

"Neat?" she repeated. "_Neat_? And when I say stoked…."

"Well, neat is just way cooler."

"It's far out."

"Totally."

Rachel glanced over at him and Michael stole a peek at her from the corner of his eye. Rachel chuckled before looking out her window. "You're a character, Michael."

"I'm going to take that as a compliment."

"Well, aren't you one for mistaking?"

Michael gapped his mouth and stopped at a red light. "Aren't you just a witty person?"

Rachel grinned. "Now, see, I _know_ that's a compliment."

"Really?"

"Really, really."

They talked lightly for the rest of the trip, and Michael became curious about her family. His parents never had divorced, so he wasn't quite sure what Rachel must have gone through, nor had he ever had stepsiblings. John had a step niece and step cousin-in-law, but he's a quarter Spaniard, so he knew his family a little _too_ well.

However, whenever he asked Rachel about her family, she shied away and changed the subject quickly. Michael figured he might have been asking to big of questions on a first date, but he couldn't help but become intrigued by the second. Instead, he settled about asking if she lives with her stepsister. Rachel didn't seem to mind the question.

"She lives in Ohio," she said. "She's just visiting for Thanksgiving."

Michael never was too excited for Thanksgiving. His mother went all out for it one time by cooking a Turducken. His Thanksgiving of 2007 consisted of himself, Sally, the TV, and a microwave TV dinner, complete with endless reruns to watch.

"Wasn't Thanksgiving last week, or something?" Michael asked perplex.

Rachel sighed. "Yes, but she heard of party, or something, at some marketing company, so she wants to go to that."

"Pyramid Enterprise Inc?" Michael suggested.

Rachel shifted in her seat to get a better look at him. "Yeah. How'd you know?"

How was he going to explain being the receptionist and part time slave? "I, uh, work there." That sounded good enough.

"Really?" Rachel said. "Hey, maybe you might know someone who, I don't want to say works there, but visits? Delilah Moore?"

Michael chocked again and the car swerved a bit. Was the air getting cloudy, or were his eyes just getting teary? "Do, you…. Do you - are you _related_ to her?"

Rachel laughed. "No! I've just been seeing her a lot lately."

"Me too."

"She's a little off," Rachel said.

"More than me?"

"Hmm," Rachel looked over to Michael, sizing him up, "maybe you're just a little bit more off."

"Thanks," Michael said.

"You're welcome," she replied chipper.

They looked over at each other with identical smiles, and a car in another lane honked.

_Author's Note: I decided that I'm going to revise in a way that I'll actually do it – at the very end. No one's mentioned anything, so I guess it isn't that big, but….still. I see typos and, yeah. I guess it's because I like to write, finish, and __then__ edit and revise. Not to say I don't look back at the chapters and all before I update, but not with that Editing Eye. Yes, the Editing Eye._

_PS – I was extremely bored a few days ago and added a preview – yes a preview – of Sally Knows Best to my Sally Knows WHAT? blog. (Does anyone even look at it?) Oh, and I'm totally __psyched__ about getting into the double digits._

_ PPS __– __The date is going to be longer than this. Don't worry. ;  
_


	10. One Massive Author's Note But do read

Not a Chapter: One Massive Author's Note

I am not giving up on Sally Knows Best, but I'm going to….make it better. I was editing it this and last week (I know! I'm so happy and proud about that!!) when I noticed it kind of sucked. You may want to read it all at once and just put your two cents in, but over all….it kind of sucked.

Here's basically what I'm going to redo:

1. I'm going to change the beginning. Girlfriend is going to get a name, more scenes at the start, but her plot isn't going to change. They're still going to break up.

2. Maybe this will have more drama and stuff. Michael will tone down on his spazziness, but not so much that I can't use that running gag bit about him being a spazz.

3. Michael will have a new reaction to Sally.

4. Sally will never have been a stray.

5. Michael's job will be a bit different. However, everyone you have grown to love at his work will stay. Just his job description will change.

6. More subplots.

7. Michael gets a neighbor!

8. It could be in first person. I'm not sure. Probably not, but, whatever. haha

Basically, the story will just get more TLC. I'm probably going to start over from scratch, rewrite scenes, add scenes, and all that jazz. I'll keep it up here though. Look for rewritten chapters. I'm not sure what I'll do with the finished product. If it's good enough maybe you'll see it on a shelf. If you do, YOU MUST BUY IT….and I'll give you cookies. Plus, if it does get published I may just thank people who were there from the start. But don't get cocky; I may be talking about my cat. Dun, dun, duuuuun.

JK! (girly laugh)

Plus, I want to thank everyone who has reviewed, favored, read, alerted, anything that involves attention to Sally Knows Best because I originally had this on fictionpress, but I got zilch of a response on there, and since this had a little bit of a Cinderella factor to it….tada! It's here. And then you all sent attention, and it made me continue it. So, thank you! I'll dedicate it to you all when I get it out to the general public. Even if I get rejected the first few times, I won't fret, because I know YOU guys love it, I love it, and so the world will love it because Sally Knows Best has a loving community to it. (cries with joy) "I am proud hold this Emmy!" ….I know that's movies.

So thank you, look for a new _and_ improved Sally Knows Best in a someplace near you!!

Hugs and Kisses,

Amanda….wally4ever

PS - I don't really like the title….at all, but I'll keep it the same here to not cause confusion, but when it gets published….I mean, I save it to "Devoted Man." What the hell is that?


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